The Queen's Shilling
by kayak Lady's Spouse
Summary: Jess helps friend tasked to save a visiting diplomat's life.


The Queen's Shilling

By

Kayak Lady's Spouse

The cold, wet, and miserable morning set the eight men to quiet grumbling as they rode out of Pueblo Colorado. Only the second man's gold, with more in the offing, inspired any of them to be out on such a day. But it was enough, for gold was the other seven men's god.

Klaus Bauer kept a happy eye upon his seven unlovely hirelings. Each was an experienced killer and none had the slightest qualms about performing this mission. "Heavens," he silently mused, "I don't think I've a man here who wouldn't kill his own mother for half what I am paying; much less the Russian." Turning to the man in front, "Redding, go ahead and scout. I don't want any surprises before we get to Fort Collins."

Rufus Redding, the chief scout for this mirthless and lethal octet touched his hat with a nod, "Yes sir, Mr. Bauer." Then he spurred his horse forward. Redding wasn't enjoying the weather any more than anyone else, but he was glad to be out in it. The pay from this job would go a long way towards his recovering from an unfortunate poker tournament in Laramie. That tournament that saw Jess Harper ruin him financially and, eventually, led to his being wanted for murder throughout the territory. He had a serious bone to pick with that Texan.

Bauer turned to the next in the line. "Carl, you know Colorado. How should we get to Estes Park by way of acquiring some army uniforms?"

Shrugging, Carl Morgan turned his flat, hard bitten, face to his boss, and said in his gravelly bass voice, "Head over to Rosita, get the uniforms, then over to Estes Park by way of Fort Collins. Call it seven days if we don't hurry." The broad chested pistolero always sounded angry even when he wasn't. "It's a reasonable route since the Thanatos Springs Comancheros were done away with some years back."

Bauer nodded, "Very well. We'll head that way." Bauer didn't know Comancheros from Ammonites but if they were gone then they didn't much matter. Besides, he had used Morgan many times before and he had faith in the man's judgment. He was curious about one thing though, "Why go out of our way to Rosita and not just get uniforms in Fort Collins?"

Morgan snorted, "Because Fort Collins isn't a fort anymore and there are no cavalry there. Besides, I know a gal in Rosita that does laundry for the blue bellies. Why risk killing a patrol when we can get the uniforms off of her clothes line?"

The German born soldier of fortune snorted. A European, with a guilty pleasure addiction to Penny Dreadfuls, he found this an eminently practical, if a rather undramatic, plan.

*.*

Malcolm Davis lurked in the British consulate in Chicago. He was a dusty little man, with a dusty little office, that he had occupied for a quarter of a century. His official title was Chief Archivist; rather grandiose as he was the consulate's ONLY archivist. A meticulously organized fellow, possessing an uncanny memory, once a piece of paper crossed his desk, he generally knew its contents by heart. That he was the consulates' intelligence officer was less well known. The latter post frequently caused the Consul General to privately seek his input, so being summoned see his nibs was not unusual. "Good Morning Mr. Davis. I require your assistance," Lord Jonathon Vane, who one day might be Baron Barnard, greeted his subordinate stiffly as Davis shut the door behind himself.

"Good morning, sir. How might I help?" the elderly Davis wheezed.

The supremely self-important nobleman sniffed, arched his fingers, and began, "A coded telegram from Whitehall came in this morning. A Russian aristocrat is enroute to Lord Ventnor's preserve in Colorado. Some place called Estes Park."

Davis nodded, seeing a map of the area in his mind's eye, "Yes sir, what is the problem?"

The Consul General continued, "It seems that this noble is going to do more than hunt. He is there to negotiate some sort of secret settlement with the Queen's government. Unfortunately, it appears that the Germans have found out and have hired someone to violently end these negotiations and to further bollocks up our already bad relations with the Bear."

Davis shook his head, 'Bad sportsmanship, sir."

Vane nodded, "Quite. Von Bismarck is like that."

Lips pursed thoughtfully, Davis then asked, "Any details on the miscreant they hired?"

The Consul General shook his head, "Dash it all no. Just that we are to safe guard this Grand Duke Ivan Nikolayevich and see that he doesn't come to harm. Who do we have in that area?"

Davis blinked hard and blurted out, "Why nobody, sir. Why on earth would we have anybody in that wilderness?"

Vane nodded, "I didn't think so. We can't possibly get anyone there in time, either." The man sighed, failure would leave a black mark on his career blotter but the impossible was, by definition, impossible. "Thank you," he said, while dismissively turning away.

Turning to leave, Malcolm suddenly froze and blurted out, "Romeo."

'Romeo? What on earth are you talking about?" the bureaucrat asked, mildly vexed at being stopped from going onto the next subject of the morning.

Davis turned back, "Sir, Romeo was an operative that the army permanently seconded to us, until he retired, back in '68. He now resides in a frontier town in relatively close proximity to Estes Park. Maybe a hundred or hundred and fifty miles away. As a retired army man, we can reactivate him and send him out."

Vane looked at Davis dubiously, "What possible good could a decrepit old retiree do?"

Davis shook his head, "Romeo is neither decrepit nor terribly old. He started going native after marrying a sassy stunner of an American girl. That's why we changed his code name from 'Rook' to 'Romeo'. He chose to retire, having 25 years in, rather than moving to a new station. He's an expert in telegraphy and cryptography. Very bright, sir, and he has a history of extricating himself, and others, from potentially terminal sticky situations."

The Consul General pursed his lips, "'And as the Yanks say, he's the only game in town. Very well, reactivate and send a message to Romeo."

*.*

Hustling down Laramie's main street, Ed Bradford, smilingly glanced at his graying reflection in the hardware store window. He noted his crooked tie and paused to make adjustments. "Old son, winter is coming," he said as he noted the white creeping into the gray that was lustily infiltrating his receding dark hair. "But it's not here yet," he continued with a nod to his image. At least his slight chest still over shadowed his stomach. Adjusting his thick glasses, he continued on towards work; he was running uncharacteristically late due to having a severe case of frisky wife. There were definitely less pleasant reasons for tardiness, and owning the business (Laramie's telegraph office) meant that there was no local boss to chastise him for it.

"Morning Ed, you're running late this morning," Sheriff Corey greeted him as he passed.

The telegrapher smiled cheerily, "Good morning Mort. Yes, I just couldn't seem to get out of bed. You know how it is some mornings."

Mort nodded, looking quite rough around the edges, "Tell me about it. The twins had us up half the night. Jessica was colicky and her crying set Mathew off. I'm hoping for a quiet day so I can catch a nap later."

Ed shook his head, "If you want quiet, stay away from the telegraph office. Miss Appleton is sending her boys over to see my gear. She thinks that it might inspire them to practice their spelling."

Mort shook his head, "Our school teacher has some strange ideas. What's wrong with just using the dunce cap? It worked with me."

"You wore it often?"

Mort grinned, "Oh yeah, whenever old McCracken's arm was tired from paddling me."

Ed paused, "How's your spelling now?"

Mort's smile faltered, "Not so good." He paused, "Maybe there are better ways. Talk to you later. Have fun with your students."

Ed nodded, "See you later Mort." Then he continued on to his work. He had just finished setting up the test bench, for the students, when a signal indicated the arrival of the first message of the day.

The telegrapher sat down and keyed 'send' to Gordon over in Cheyenne. Business as usual ended abruptly when he saw that the message was addressed to Romeo Montague. He had ceased being Romeo some years back and wasn't keen on returning to the role. What on earth was happening so as to make Her Majesty want to reactivate him? He put that aside and carefully took the message. It was in cipher number 4, he realized. Somebody was very sharp indeed. Number 4 was the one he had used the most in his last year of service. He didn't for a moment doubt that it hadn't been used in years. Good security demanded such changes.

Few people would have been both skilled, and talented, enough to recognize the cipher as the message came in. Indeed, the ability to mentally translate an encoded Morse message, as it is received, is terribly rare. Ed Bradford not only had that talent but he was also a gifted cryptologist. This skill combination was why he had been seconded into diplomatic intelligence and stationed in the United States. In 1849 he had been sent from Australia to San Francisco to report upon Yank military operations in and around San Francisco. That had been child's play as the Yanks couldn't even keep their naval base maintained due to the incessant desertion to the gold fields. At least he had been able to send word of naval movements and had become familiar with various criminal organizations in the area. The latter information might have proven useful if her Majesty had ever seen fit to claim California for the Empire. It had been while gathering this information that he had wooed, and later married, Matilda Lockerbie. Life had become very exciting when her golden hearted hobby of assisting, and sometimes spiriting off, Chinese prostitutes had upset the local Tong. That episode was why his code name had changed from 'Thomas Rook' to 'Romeo Montague;' doubtless courtesy of the annoyance that he had caused his uncle Mal.

For the next ten years, 'Romeo' had run telegraph offices in various California towns at the behest of her Majesty's government (who had suborned or placed men in personnel positions of American Telegraph Enterprises). In 1861, with the construction of the first continental telegraph, Captain Edward Bradford had been assigned to the station in Laramie- an office through which every last U.S. army telegraph message, to and from the west coast, passed. Such messages were usually ciphered. Until those ciphers were broken, he would simply keep copies of the messages and send them in packets to his superiors. Sometimes he broke the ciphers before his superiors did. Sometimes they broke them first. In the end, they were always broken. Once broken, Ed would start summarizing newly intercepted messages and send the encoded summaries to the consulate in Chicago. The operation had been a tremendous success, with troop, naval, and gold/silver shipment information becoming readily available to Her Majesty's government; until the later establishment of multiple alternative telegraph routes. Come '68, Ed's superiors deemed the Laramie station to no longer be useful and ordered Ed to another posting. They were quite surprised when their man tendered his retirement from the army. Major Edward Bradford had gone native and Laramie was his home.

Ed acknowledged the receipt of the message and quickly decoded it, still remembering cipher 4 by heart. It wasn't a long message; they wanted him back for a brief mission and they promised that it would not be against the interests of his adopted country. Angry and grim faced, Ed leaned back in his chair and looked, unseeing, out of the window. "I'm bloody well retired after serving for 25 years. Isn't that enough?" he thought. Calming himself with a deep breath, he answered the unspoken rhetorical question, "Apparently not." and returned to pondering the telegram.

It was sent by Escalous in Chicago. That meant it was from whoever was currently the Consul General there. They promised the mission wouldn't be against American interests. What that really meant was that they didn't think he would figure out how it was against such interests (if it was) before carrying out whatever they had in mind. Ed tapped upon the chair as he pondered the situation.

"Why me? Expendability? Maybe. Location and Urgency? Perhaps. If it is urgency then it is very urgent because they could send an active operative out from Chicago, by way of train to Cheyenne, and he would be here fairly quickly. Eureka! Message to Ventnor in Colorado, Ed thought. They likely want me to play courier. Likely some trifling affair that was only important to some bureaucrat somewhere. I'm no longer a British agent. I'm no longer even British and I bloody well don't want to be a spy any more. Three years ago, I surprised Mattie by going through the formality of becoming an American citizen. She's never understood why I bothered. I spied on the Yanks for a quarter of a century without qualms as I wasn't one of them. Now I am a Yank and that changes everything."

Nodding to himself, he settled upon his course of action. They couldn't make him do it; the monies he had saved while in the Queen's service were safely being managed by a Chicago broker (he and Mattie had lived off his pay as a telegrapher and his and her other earnings) whom also received and invested his retirement half-pay. The worst they could do would be to stop his retirement half pay which, truth to tell, would only anger him. If they got particularly dastardly, they could threaten to leak that he had been a spy. He smiled grimly to himself, but they wouldn't dare do that once he informed them that he would then tell his fellow Yanks of how the British provided gold/silver shipment information to the Confederates throughout the war. Given the whacking huge post war indemnity the Crown had paid the U.S., because of assistance given to Confederate privateers, he didn't think they would relish the prospect of paying another one over gold shipment thefts. Decided, he strode back to the telegraphy apparatus, but stopped when his hand touched the key. He was a Yank now, true, but he had taken the Queen's Shilling. With that came a duty and a responsibility that he had never renounced. Caught by honor and duties, Ed unaccustomedly swore while sending his response.

*.*

Malcolm Davis rapped upon his Nib's door, and entered. "Sir, Romeo has replied."

Vane looked up from his pedicure-in-progress. The woman performing the routine was one of the staff and security cleared. "And?"

Davis straight facedly replied, "After making some exceptionally vulgar comments upon your ancestry, personal habits, and proclivities, Romeo is awaiting orders. Also, he affirms that he won't work against American interests."

Vane snorted, "Military types are so predictable and he will, bloody well, do whatever we demand of him. A bit uppity isn't he?"

Davis eyed his boss coldly but replied politely, "He's a good man, sir, but not really ours anymore. He's become a Yank. "

Vane looked at Davis narrowly, "Sounds like you know Romeo."

The dusty man returned the look unflinchingly, "Yes sir. He's my older sister's son, though I haven't talked to him since '65."

The Consul General gave a disinterested wave of his hand, "Send him a brief and give him his marching orders. He is to keep that Russian alive. You may go."

*.*

The telegraph office was alive with a trio of rambunctious boys jostling to take their turn at the test bench key while half a dozen others waited their message at the test bench receiver. Ed was about to enforce order when the active receiver indicated another incoming message. Two of the receiving group boys made a bee line to join Ed when it came in.

"Good luck boys, this will come in a lot faster than you can decode it," Ed assured the pair who took on an air of belligerent determination. The telegrapher then sent Gordon the 'receiving' signal and the message rolled in.

Like the earlier message, it was to "Romeo" and it was in Cipher 4. The inexperienced youngsters didn't have a prayer of keeping up while Ed dispensed with writing dots and dashes, instead writing down the decoded letters as they came in. Half way through, the two students gave up and returned to the test bench where the other students continued sending each other messages; mostly overly common Anglo-Saxon phrases that would have earned them paddlings from Miss Appleton. Even while receiving his message from Escalus, Ed had to repress a smile. Boys will be boys. Eventually, Ed pocketed his message and returned his attention to his visitors. He noted that the rambunctious trio intended to continue hogging the sending key, so he summarily sent them down to the receiver. An hour later, peace had returned to his kingdom as the visitors had reluctantly returned to school.

Taking the folded message from his pocket, Ed pondered it. So, they wanted him to stop the murder of a visiting Russian noble. Ok, that was probably worth doing. He was gratified that he had guessed correctly, as it involved going to Estes Park, but he was not pleased to have no information about those who were tasked with doing the dirty deed.

"I'll need some help," he said aloud to the empty room. He disinterestedly noted that the sound of his speech came across as pale yellow bands that immediately faded. They always did. Mattie's were Orange going to red when she was angry. Sounds were always accompanied by shaped color for Ed Bradford. Those generated by music were often beautiful enough to move him to tears. It had always been that way and he felt pity for the blindness suffered by the rest of mankind... except when gunfire was nearby. The problem of the entire world going pink when he was exposed to musket fire, or heaven forbid when artillery went off, had been why he had chosen to leave the cavalry and go into intelligence. A man who suddenly goes blind, every time a volley is fired, is not a good man for leading troops. More happily, the banding caused by people's speech varied by volume, word, and emotional state. This meant that once he was around somebody for a while, it really helped in deceit detection. This ability had proven quite useful in cards, romance, and in keeping from being knifed in the back. Medical professionals called it chromesthesia, and Ed gathered that he had one of the more remarkable cases of it.

The blindness issue presented a problem, though, when it came to protecting the Russian. It just wouldn't do to go it alone. That his near sightedness caused navigation problems, and that he was entirely blind at night, only cemented the certainty that he was going to need help. But who? Not Mattie. He wasn't risking his wife in the wilderness- besides horribly near sighted though he was, Mattie was an even worse shot than he. Whoever it was would have to be trustworthy, not overly concerned about his spying history (for that was likely to be exposed given the nature of the assignment), and able to keep secrets. Nodding to himself, Ed knew the answer immediately. Unfortunately, the man would want to do it for free. "Blast it no! Escalus is causing this and Escalus can bloody well pay for it." Ed returned to his sending unit and sent a message demanding payment for a bodyguard. It wasn't long before he received word that his demand was approved. "Good. Jess Harper jolly well deserves to be well paid for this."

Ed closed down the telegraph office for the afternoon. Mattie would have to run it until he got back. Next would come the hard part; explaining to Mattie that she had been married to a spy for 25 years. He had always meant to confess it to her but had kept putting it off, knowing that she was going to be more than a touch put out with him. Still, she would understand why he was forced to leave and that he was a homebody by preference.

*.*

Searing red bands scorched Ed's vision as his beloved Mattie thundered out, "You were a what? Since when?"

Ed gulped in air and proceeded. This was going about as well as he expected it would, "Since you've known me, my dear. I was a British army officer and gathering intelligence was my mission when we met in San Francisco, back in '49. I continued the work in every other place we have lived, that is, until I retired some time ago."

"You traitor!" She shrilled.

Shaking his head, Ed interrupted as she sucked in most of the air in the room prepatory to volubly expanding upon her statement, "No my love. I was British, not American, so I wasn't a traitor. I stopped those activities long before becoming a citizen. I didn't tell you because that would have made you a traitor and I wanted to hang alone if anyone had to hang at all." That should forestall her next outburst, which he predicted would be "You didn't trust me," he thought.

Wrong! "Don't give me that Ed Bradford! You didn't tell me because you knew I would be mad at your betraying my trust! Twenty-five years of deceitfully using me as a cover! Such shameful…"

Ed stood up straight to weather the storm. As he expected, she was far angrier about his keeping secrets from her than anything else. Things had started to settle a bit, going from a class 4 hurricane to a mere class 1, when he broke the news of one last mission. This sent her back through the roof. He barely had a chance to tell her that he'd be gone a week to ten days before she shrilled for him to do as he would…maybe she would be here when he came back and maybe she wouldn't be. Then she fled, crying, out the door.

Tight faced and pale, the man stood staring after her. To say that this hadn't gone well was the understatement of a life time. He collected himself, got the gear he needed together, and wrote his infuriated wife a placatory note that he knew to be weak and hopelessly inadequate. Then, with feet of lead, he plodded heavily to their small carriage house via the back door. No doubt Mattie was at one of her friend's homes, sharing her unhappiness. Ed hoped she wasn't with Iwona Corey as, if she was, he figured there would be a noose waiting for him when he got back. Sheriff Mort Corey had been a Union officer during the war; the man would take an awfully jaundiced view of his being a spy. Even a retired one.

In their stalls, the Bradford's two cross trained draft/riding horses responded to his appearance as they normally did. Nicker, the mare, greeted him cheerily as he entered while the gelding, Socks, looked on indifferently. He saddled up the ugly dappled roan mare, who bore several scars upon her right shoulder, after sharing an obligatory carrot with her. He was almost mounted upon her when his reaction to Mattie's words set in. They stood together, she snuggling her bipedal friend with her head, a good five minutes before he collected himself and departed for the Sherman ranch. In the end, he rode Nicker out with a false smile and a stiff upper lip. No witness would have guessed how heavily the Queen's shilling was weighing upon him.

*.*

Mattie Bradford may have fled her home, but there was no fleeing her pain. Who was this man she thought she knew so well? Why had he done this to her? What is going to happen next? Pain, grief and confusion dogged her as she instinctively sought the safest place she knew; the church. The hurting matron opened the always unlocked door and sat in the front pew. There she sobbed her confusion into the silence of the room while seeking the Lord Jesus' help in making sense of things.

From behind her came a warmly imperious woman's voice, "What is wrong Mattie?"

Turning, Mattie saw that she had been joined by Arena Linkous, the pastor's wife. She stifled a grimace while politely answering, "Hello Arena. Nothing for you to worry about. Just something I'm working through with the Good Lord's help." Mattie knew Arena to be an utterly inflexible moralist far more focused on distributing God's wrath than his mercy. Self-righteous in the extreme, the woman had recently lost a bid to become Laramie's first female mayor on an anti-papist platform that also included prohibition, intolerance, and anti-corruption. Arena was Mattie's absolutely last choice for sharing confidences.

"Rubbish, dear," God's gift to Baptist Inquisitors informed her. "You are no cry baby yet here I find you weeping in God's house. Jesus has commanded us to 'Rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep.' Pray confide in me, for you obviously need a friend." It was said with soft steel, and Mattie felt the tug of the woman's iron forged will.

Mattie resisted that pull, edging and glancing away from her, "No thank you Arena, really. Ed and I just had an argument."

Arena looked at her sympathetically while pursuing the matter with all of the subtlety of a bull moose in rut, "My dear, men are trying at the best of times. It is part of their animal nature; a nature that forces dark urges upon them that only God's grace abates. Let me share your burden."

Mattie forced a grateful smile, and made a small answer, "Oh very well Arena. If you must know, I caught Ed being a bit deceptive. We wound up arguing and he hurt my feelings. Now I am heading back. No doubt, we will make up shortly." Thoroughly irritated and expecting to fluster the intrusive woman, she whimsically added, "No doubt we will then have torrid sex. We generally do."

Arena paled and shuddered at the taboo word but boldly soldiered on, "No Mattie! Stop and consider. Reconciling by bribing a man with sex is but giving into bestiality!" A light flickered in the Holy Roller's eyes, "No! If sex comes so readily to mind, then this was about sex. Sex and deception spells infidelity! Oh my poor dear!" To Mattie's shock, Arena lunged forward and swept her into a massive hug. "Men are such scoundrels! To think that he has cheated on you after so many years!"

Mattie shook her head while trying to disentangle herself, "No Arena, really…"

Righteous indignation flared from the very soul of the rampant evangelist, "Name the Hussy at fault!" she demanded. "Let us drag them both forth to judgment and the cleansing of their souls. That will keep them from further vileness."

Mattie ducked from the other woman's grasp, "Arena, listen to me. There is no other woman!"

That stopped the pastor's wife in her tracks. Paling and sickened, she whispered, "No, it isn't so! Ed Bradford has become a Sodomite? No doubt he has importuned you with foul advances. No wonder you were crying and are so reluctant to speak of it. No Mattie, I understand all too well. Ugghhhh. It is not your fault. He forced himself upon you! Have you spoken to the doctor? You could be badly hurt!"

Mattie was struck speechless by the absurdity of the conversation. How had it gotten to this point? She thought. "Ed didn't force me into anything," she finally managed in a strangled voice.

Arena peered at her closely, stifling revulsion she incredulously asked, "Then you did so willingly?"

That was when Mattie lost her temper, "By God Arena Linkous, open your ears! Never has Ed Bradford forced me into anything. Nor have he or I done anything sexually depraved. Quit putting words into my mouth and get the hell out of my way. I'm leaving." Full steam ahead, Mattie knocked aside the taller woman when she tried to block her way.

"The wicked flee when no man pursueth," the Inquisitor called after Mattie as she stormed out.

"Oh shut up," Mattie called without looking back as she stalked homeward. By the time she reached her empty home she realized that, though she was angry with her husband, she wasn't nearly as put out with him as she was with the Pastor's wife. "That woman has a real gift for annoyance," she thought. "On the plus side, defending our reputation reminded me how much I love my treacherous scoundrel."

"Alright Ed Bradford," she thundered out upon entering their home. "Quit hiding! I'm giving you a piece of my mind and then we are going to talk through this thing. "

To her surprise, only silence answered her challenge. Twice she quickly went through their home. It was only on the second pass that she found Ed's note. It wasn't long, merely two paragraphs in Ed's awful cursive, but it was full of love and remorse. "My man has a way with words," she observed distantly as distressed tears of mixed anger, frustration, and remorse flowed. "Ed, you are in for the devil's own roasting when you get home!" she vowed; all thoughts of deserting him forever banished.

*.*

"Giddyup, Nicker. We have to make some time." The cheerfully energetic mare picked up the pace. Broad of chest and short, Nicker wasn't particularly fast but she was sure footed, intelligent, durable, and willing. Ed thought her the best horse he had ever owned…if sometimes inconvenient. The sun was nearing the horizon and they had to make the Sherman ranch before it set. Ed had no night vision at all and once darkness set in he would be as blind as a stone. Being near sighted during the day was dealable with glasses. Night blindness was another matter. With cheerful obedience, the ugly mare happily settled into a faster pace. A long outing suited her and they made good time in the chill Wyoming afternoon. Fall was in the air and it wouldn't be too long before the deep snows of winter visited.

*.*

Jess Harper was half way to the house when he heard Nicker's cheerful greeting. Looking up, he was surprised to see Ed and the mare entering the yard. It was nigh dark and Ed's poor vision was no secret. More than once, the Texan had assisted the fiddler home when Mattie had wanted to stay late at dances so that she could gossip and to help clean up. If Ed was here this late then something was up; most likely an urgent message from Slim's brother Andy. "Howdy Ed, let me give you a hand," he called to the visitor.

Squinting in the gloaming, Ed moved Nicker to the corral fence but away from the water trough. She needed to cool a bit before getting a lot of water. Dismounting lightly, the thin man smiled, "Thanks Jess. It's getting pretty dark and I don't know your place like my own. How is everything?"

Jess shrugged, "We're fine. I was about to ask you the same thing." The Texan's resonant voice was full of concern, "You're out here awfully late. Is everything alright with Andy?"

The telegrapher started. Absorbed in his own problems, he hadn't thought about how his late arrival might worry the folks here. He quickly made amends, "Far as I know he's fine. I'm not bringing word from him. I'm here to talk to you."

Jess frowned, though his visitor now couldn't see that, "Shoot Ed, it must be pretty urgent for you to come charging out here. Let's tend to Nicker and then we'll have some supper, and talk." Jess knew Nicker well. He had named her when he had brought her up from the Crossed Lances ranch of Slim's Aunt Ella. The mare was as playful, and vocal, as any adult horse that Jess had ever known.

Ed nodded, "Thanks for the invite, but we need to be alone when we discuss this. I need your help and the matter has to remain private. Not even Slim can be told everything."

Jess paused in surprise. Ed Bradford was a straight arrow and this unexplained need for secrecy must have something to do with the telegraph office. "Let's talk as we tend to your horse."

The spy smiled with a nod, "Suits me." The two men then walked Nicker into the barn where they tended to her. The cheery mare gloried in the attention and Jess laughed at her incessant playing for 'just a little bit more' scratching behind her ears. "I swear Ed, Nicker makes me feel like a ten year old with my first pinto. She's such a sweet tempered and playful thing."

Ed laughed, "And so into mischief. I daren't put anything in my back pockets or we're off to the races." Both men laughed as the mare had previously victimized them both. She liked to quietly come up behind someone, then snatch something off their belt, or out of their back pockets, and then trot off with her prize. She would get some distance off, generally 100 feet to 100 yards, drop her booty and then nicker at her victim. Then, as the offended party approached, she would pick up her trophy and then run off again to restart the game; that was how she earned her name. One morning, on the trip that brought the filly up from Colorado, Jess had spent a good hour pursuing and swearing at her while the other two men moving the horses watched and laughed their rears off. Eventually he got his wallet back. That same evening, she tried for his hog leg but hadn't been able to get it out of the holster because of the hammer loop.

Jess ran his hand over the mare's heavily scarred right shoulder, "Does this shoulder ever give her any trouble?"

Ed shook his head as he curried his mount, "No, it just looks awful. Did you ever notice the scar on her chest?"

Jess squatted and traced the chest scar, "No, I hadn't. It's not nearly as spectacular. Ever notice she doesn't much like trees?"

Ed laughed again, "Oh, she likes trees just fine if somebody else is already under them. Otherwise she's certainly cautious when approaching them."

Jess stood up, "Her story is pretty obvious, don't you think?"

Ed nodded, "The way I see it, a cougar jumped her from a tree but didn't catch her clean."

Jess reached up a rubbed the squat mare's shoulder, "Got a piece of her but she got him off. Then she kicked and stomped him. That chest scar looks like a bite to me."

"Game, set, and match to Nicker," Ed laughed.

Jess joined in though he didn't understand the tennis reference, "So Ed, what is it you want?"

Ed continued currying the happy mare, "I got a telegram today telling me to immediately head out to Estes Park to keep a Russian grand duke from being murdered."

Jess' eyes widened in surprise, "You what?"

"You heard me," the thin bespectacled man answered.

Jess made a face, "Ok Ed, what's the joke about?" Ed loved Jokes and told them constantly.

Ed sighed, quit currying, and leaned upon the back of his mount, "It's no joke, and it wouldn't be funny if it was."

Jess crossed his arms and scowled at the man, "Ed, this is an even a sillier story than your claim of escaping from an Australian prison by putting on a kangaroo skin and hopping out."

Ed shook his head with a grin, "NOTHING is as silly as that story. It just so happens that a man tried it but it wasn't me. That was Billy Hunt, and he would have made it if the guards hadn't shot at him for food." He saw that the colored bands of Jess' words indicated doubt. Big shock that.

Jess paused, momentarily taken aback. Despite years of derision, Ed had steadfastly held to his beloved kangaroo story. His telling of the 'kangaroo story' was mandatory entertainment at all of the parties Ed and Mattie were invited to and generally involved his hopping about rooms to show how he had done it (to the general hysteria of his audience). Finally, he grumbled, "Explain to me then: why you were contacted and why the telegraph company is involved. I should think the army would be, or the law over in Estes Park."

Ed sighed and returned to currying his mount, "A British Lord owns a bunch of land there that he uses for entertaining friends."

Jess nodded dubiously, "Yeah, guy by the name of Ventnor. Iwona told me about him."

Ed nodded, "Yes, she met him when she went to Yellowstone. The Russian is heading there to be his guest and to shoot up the countryside in style."

Jess shrugged, "Who cares?"

Ed looked up, "The Germans care because he is really going there to negotiate some sort of Asian agreement with the Crown. Russia and Britain have been at each other's throats, over Asia, for 50 years. That suits the German's fine as they would rather not have those two countries friendly with each other."

Jess made another face, "So they mean to kill the Russian diplomat? Won't Russia just send another one? I can't see that being very useful."

Ed shrugged, "In and of itself it wouldn't. However, this diplomat is the Czar's brother and the Germans intend to get the Brits blamed for the killing. Since Queen Victoria despises the Russians anyway, at the very least it would create a huge diplomatic hairball and stall any negotiations."

Jess digested this information for a moment, "So why is it your problem?"

The visitor put down the curry comb and looked Jess straight in the eyes, "If I am to tell you that, then I need your promise not to tell anyone what I tell you. Not even Slim. It would mean my death."

Jess' scornful response was halted by the tenseness in Ed's manner. The man was deadly serious, "Ok Ed, you have my word." The words were quietly said, and Ed nodded seeing that they generated narrow green bands; this meant 'sincerity' for Jess Harper.

The skinny telegrapher caressed Nicker on the cheek and then left her stall, motioning for Jess to follow. The mare grumbled her displeasure at their departure as Jess closed the stall behind them. The two men ended up sitting in a comfortable hay pile.

Ed began, "In '60, Mattie and I came to Laramie to build and open the local telegraph office. What nobody knew, including Mattie until today, is that I did so at the order of the Crown."

Jess frowned, "Whose crown?"

Ed smiled, "Her Majesty Queen Victoria's crown. Unbeknownst to my lovely wife, I was Captain Edward Bradford of Her Majesty's army." The man then paused to let this sink in and was not disappointed with Jess' reaction.

Jess' impulsive nature frequently hid the fact that he possessed a sharp mind. Tonight, it worked quickly. "Jehosephat Ed! You're a British spy and you tapped into army communications on the telegraph line. Was Laramie on the original transcontinental telegraph?" the Texan exclaimed.

Ed nodded, "Yes."

Jess shook his head, "Of course the army messages were coded. Or did you Brits steal the army codes?"

Ed smiled proudly, "They were coded, and the army changed the codes several times during the war. Each time they changed them I collected coded messages and either my bosses, or myself, broke the codes. I would send the information in the messages to my superiors in Chicago."

Jess whistled, "Who sent some to Richmond."

Ed shrugged, "Some, I expect; particularly information enabling your people to intercept Union gold and silver shipments. Great Britain wasn't entirely impartial in that conflict."

Jess sat back and studied his friend, grinning. Finally he laughed, "Good old Ed Bradford. Quiet, unassuming, straight arrow, near sighted, stay at home Ed is a British spy. Your life has been more interesting than anyone knows."

Ed hung his head and laughed as well, "Not really. Not most of the time. Excitement is something a spy tries to avoid or else he isn't a spy for long. You're wrong though. I'm no longer a spy. Back in '68, I got orders to leave Laramie for another posting. By then the army was using other telegraph lines and no more useful information was coming through. I declined and retired." What Ed failed to mention was that he had been offered a posting to any colony in the Empire, or to London, to train a new generation of code breakers. The evening he had received his orders, during pillow talk he had playfully asked Mattie where in America, or the British Empire, she would most like to live. She had said, "Here in Laramie near my friends." So here they stayed. Ed continued, "Then three years ago I became an American so I'm not even British anymore. Now they have called upon me to save this Russian as I am the only one they trust close enough to Estes Park to get there. I told them that I would." Ed paused, "Which brings us to you Jess. With my poor vision, especially my night vision, I might not even find Estes Park. I need your help."

Jess merrily eyed his friend for a moment, "My help because I don't care that you spied, second hand, for the Confederacy." He clapped his hand upon Ed's shoulder, "Sure I'll help. Let's head out tomorrow with mounts and remounts and we'll ride to Estes Park. I assume we can't just send word there. I think that we can get there in three days."

Ed nodded his head, "No telegraph line there. That'll be some hard riding."

"Yes it will," Jess shrugged, "What are you going to tell Slim tonight? He surely won't cotton to your sending gold shipment information to the South." Slim's father had been killed in a Southern attempt on one of those shipments.

Ed drooped a bit, "No he wouldn't and I really can't blame him. War stinks and spying can be a dirty business. I'm glad to be out of it. I intend to tell him that I need your help in hand delivering a private message to Ventnor and that the Fort Collins telegraph is down. It's so urgent that they're willing to pay you $100 to accompany me."

Jess whistled, "That's a lot of money to deliver the mail."

Ed nodded and reached into a pocket pulling out five gold double eagles and handed them to the startled Jess, "Yes, it is."

*.*

"Steak and ale, Miss." Ed Bradford cheerfully said to the busty dark haired saloon girl who also doubled as a waitress here at Cooter Colorado's Silver Spoon Saloon. He and Jess had made excellent time, starting early and stopping late, for two days.

The girl nodded indifferently, then she turned to Jess, showing a mild flicker of interest, "And you, suh?" she asked in a voice resplendent of mint juleps.

Jess gave her his best flirtatious smile, being a man partial to well filled women's tops when they were paired with trim hips and pretty faces, "The same, Miss….?"

"They call me Ginger. Ginger Dobbins," she answered with a professional smile.

"Then steak and a beer for me as well Miss Ginger. I am Jess Harper," he said with a tip of his hat. Then remembering he was indoors, and in the presence of a woman, he removed the headgear.

A minute later, they had their beers and an assurance that their steaks (plus potatoes and carrots) would be ready shortly. Then Ginger was again away, tending to other patrons. Jess gave Ed a grin, happy to be inside with a beer and awaiting dinner in a warm room out of the wind and rain, even if his second attempt at flirting with the barmaid had been as unsuccessful as the first. "Two strikes," Ed said with a chuckle.

"Then I better choke up on the bat. Still, I haven't struck out yet, and she is weakening." The Texan laughed softly with a wink. Settling back, he changed the subject. "We're doin' better than I thought we would. I figure we can be there by noon tomorrow. Probably a little before."

Ed shrugged, sipped again at his beer, then said, "Too bad we don't know if we will be there in time. Still, we can but try." The Brit ran a hand through his thinning hair and took in the room without seeming to. It wasn't busy, in absolute terms, but given how run down, poor and generally half abandoned the town was, this looked to be a boom night. Their garrulous stableman had gone on, at great length, about the failed and declining mines in the area. His dire predictions had called for abandoning the state and giving it back to the Indians within the decade.

A second barmaid, one nowhere near as presentable as Ginger, had come in and started her shift. The woman gave off such an air of veteran tough mindedness that it would have taken a bold man to dare advance upon her; even if she had looked more like Lily Langtry and less like a bull dog. Ed noticed, that with her appearance, Miss Ginger had left a pair of soldiers at the far end of the room and gone back to the kitchen. Shortly thereafter, the busty woman came through the kitchen doorway loaded with their meal. Ed let out a low whistle and Jess looked up at his line of sight, and goggled. "Jehosaphat Ed, we aren't starving tonight! I thought Miss Daisy believed in big portions."

In a flash, Jess was out of his chair and helping the startled waitress who had not required any assistance. She let out a laugh, that to Ed's sensitive ear sounded forced and whose colors indicated mixed emotions. "Sit back down, Mr. Harper. Everything is under control and you are getting in my way." Jess retreated as the woman put down bowls of vegetables, plates of meat and bread AND some sort of berry pie. Then she hovered around the table, talking fully with Jess. Laughing at his joking ways and generally being warm and genial with him. To Ed she only spoke in words of one syllable. The Brit also noted that the topmost two most buttons of her blouse had somehow come undone. "Doubtless a coincidence that," he thought mockingly to himself. As Jess and the girl entertained each other, Ed watched both her and the room and was unsurprised by what he saw. Eventually, Jess declared himself full and pushed his plate away from himself. At that point Ed ordered two more beers and slowed down his eating, drawing out the meal while not letting his stomach get over burdened. The girl noticed and shot him an annoyed glance when Jess was looking in another direction.

Half an hour later, Ed pushed his own plate away and turned to Ginger who had done everything but climb into Jess' lap. The Texan, pleased with her change in attitude, had happily taken advantage of the situation and was beginning to look a trifle annoyed with Ed's dawdling. Wiping his lips, Ed smiled at the girl, "Miss Ginger, would you be so kind as to fetch my friend and I two cigars? They would go well after such a fine meal. And, of course, our bill." With a look of "Well, finally!" the girl was off.

"Didn't know you smoked, Ed." Jess offered as he watched Ginger's posterior depart.

"I don't, Jess." Then lowering his voice he added, "You do realize that she was paid to pick you up? After over stuffing you to slow you down?"

Jess' brow raised in surprise and he looked a question at his companion. "Think about it. Her sudden turn around in attitude while freezing me out completely. The ridiculous amount of food. The fact that she has spent the last hour on you and only you- ever since that other waitress came in. Now add that I saw those two soldiers, the ones who were watching YOU, give her something just before her reversal in attitude. They left about the time I slowed down eating and one came back to check on you since then. Now both are back again." The telegraphist laughed grimly, "I guess they got tired of getting rained on."

Jess led out an almost inaudible grumble and grimaced. Then he sighed, "Yeah, I can see it now that you point it out. Though I didn't see the soldiers." He let his eyes amble around the room as he continued, "Her cheeriness did seem forced to me. Kinda professional, you know?" Then the Texan stopped and let out a low, unpleasant laugh, and turned back towards Ed. "I just recognized one of our soldiers. Don't you know who that corporal is?"

"Jess, at this range I couldn't tell he was a corporal."

"Oh, right." The Texan unloosed his pistol under cover of the table. "Old poker opponent of ours." At Ed's curious look he shrugged, "Rufus Redding. Last time we met we traded bullets and I put him into the Cheyenne jail. I think he holds a grudge."

Ed pursed his lips but quelled the urge to look over at the fugitive. "Kinda fast to make corporal, don't you think?"

Jess nodded, "Yeah. I think he self-promoted. Want to bet that neither he nor or his compatriot are actually soldiers?"

Ed smiled and shook his head, "Shall we have a word with them?"  
"Yeah. Let's see if Ginger wants me to take her off somewhere. I think that would be best, and then put them in a crossfire in the saloon entrance." Ed nodded and they awaited the return of the lady in question. Jess smoked his cigar, Ed deciding 'at the last minute' to smoke his later, and gave his dinner another 20 minutes to digest.

"I just love the smell of a fine cigar," Ginger crooned at Jess while giving him a smile that shouted that she liked lots of other things as well. "Care to walk me home Mr. Harper? Fifteen minutes previously, she had cast all pretense of subtle aside; Jess figured she would start shedding clothing if he didn't take a hint soon. A third blouse button HAD mysteriously come undone.

"Miss Ginger, I would be delighted to. Let's go." And with that Jess stood, put on his hat and set a brisk pace for the door, forcing the girl to hustle to keep up. It was all the Texan could do not to laugh at the reaction of his two watchers. Redding's companion caught a spur in his bar stool as he abruptly stood up and went sprawling. Ed more sedately stood up, ambled towards the coat rack, and reclaimed the shot gun he had leaned against the wall behind it Picking up the gun, the Brit turned towards the door, raising the weapon when Redding and his companion reached it.

As the door swung outward, Jess' voice resounded gravelly, "Evening Rufus. Up with your hands, and your friend….," the limping friend of Rufus quick drew his hog leg. The exchange was brief. Knowing the shot would fill his world with blinding pink, Ed loosed both barrels, ducked down, and reloaded. Jess put two bullets into the pistolero. Rufus Redding simply raised his hands. A shotgun at his back and Jess Harper to his front made for poor odds. He would take his chances with words. An emotionless glance down at his shredded companion confirmed that he had made the right choice.

*.*

Morning came bright and early, finding Jess, Ed and Rufus Redding camped in an abandoned homestead about four miles from Cooter. The town had no lawman, and not knowing if/how many bogus soldier friends Redding had, the two had drug the wanted man out of town until they found a suitable place to spend the evening. It had been a night short on sleep but long on talk.

"Yes Jess, I paid Ginger so that I could have a private word with you. I knew that you wouldn't just talk with me if I approached you normal like," Rufus Redding had offered. Obvious lies, Jess thought, looking at Ed who simply nodded and shrugged in unspoken agreement.

"Talk about what, Rufus? Don't know what we have to talk about. The fire engine?" The tone was derisive despite Jess having once won a fire engine from the man in a poker game. People bet the darndest things in poker matches.

Redding paled further, the fire engine incident had not ended well, and desperately answered, "No, because I need your help. Something bad is happening."

"Really Redding? " Ed answered with a sharp edged smile. "Like the murdering brave soldier lads and the stealing of their uniforms?"

"No! Well maybe, but not by me." The flustered felon continued, "You see Malachai and I came across some guys who are gonna murder a rich guy in Estes Park. We needed help to stop them; killed two of them already and took these here uniforms. We were gonna recruit you to come along too. You being good with a gun and all."

The questioning went on for hours with Redding changing his story a dozen times; but he always came back to a group of six men, disguised as soldiers, murdering a rich guy in Estes Park and blaming it on another rich guy, named Ventnor, who they would also kill. Then they would burn the place to the ground and escape to the Nations. In the end, a disarmed and bound Redding was placed on a spare horse and the trio continued on towards Estes Park.

*.*

"No sign of Rufus, boss. Nor Malachai, neither." Carl Morgan growled at Bauer when his boss had arisen. It was windy and wet and nobody was in a good humor. "Neither came back last night; stayed in Cooter most like, instead of bringing back the supplies. I sent out Rizzo to fetch them back and to keep an eye out for the Russian party."

Bauer nodded his head, "Yes, they'll be coming through Cooter when they get here. Leaving a man there is a good idea while the rest of us go scout out Ventnor. Maybe eliminate him, maybe not. Last word I got is that the Russian only has half a dozen men escorting him. We might just want to hit the Russian on the road."

Carl shrugged, as if saying that eliminating the Brit, or not, was of no account as it all paid the same.

*.*

Rizzo trotted on towards Cotter, warm under his slicker with a kerchief pulled up to keep the rain off of most of his face. He was happy to have switched out of his cavalry gear and back into regular dress figuring that, if Redding had gotten into trouble, looking like a fellow soldier would not be helpful. He smiled ruefully at himself, saying aloud "Fess up, you just don't like wearing Blue Belly duds and the slicker isn't government issue." He was in good spirits, glad to be away from the pack of murderers that were his current companions, "They aren't the best of company." He thought. "Redding is the best of the bunch and he would knife you for a dollar." Then he amended the thought, " Well, for two dollars, since he didn't trust anybody else in this bunch, either." If the job hadn't paid so well, he would never have touched it. And after collecting his pay, he would disappear to Arizona to re-start his life as Curly Bill Brocius. He would live quietly within the law because being hunted for murder was no way to live. He had been about to try it, without a stake, when he had run across Redding – who knew him as Ralph Rizzo – in Pueblo and had recruited and equipped him. Yep, that gear, and the $200 pay, would go a long way towards making good on a new start.

Rizzo/Brocius rode on, back tracking to Cotter as his merry band of cut throats were now between there and Estes Park. He kept a sharp eye out since the wind made hearing a sound of less than a shout unlikely. The visibility wasn't all that great either so he, and the three riders coming towards him, were separated by less than fifty yards when they spotted each other. Rizzo swore under his breath at the sight. Too close to duck, unnoticed, into the woods, he would have to pass them on the trail.

*.*

Jess was wet, and not enjoying himself much. Fortunately, his fleece lined coat, though soaked, still kept him warm. He envied Ed his slicker but was at least happier than Redding who had to make do with a sodden saddle blanket. "We got company, Ed." He announced, seeing the rider coming their way down the trail. The man didn't have visible weapons out and was making good time.

Ed looked up, at this distance and in the rain, he could make out the blur of a horseman. "Yeah, I see him Jess." As he spoke, the stranger pulled out into a wider spot to let them pass, being about 30 yards away.

"Howdy," came a friendly voice as the man turned his horse sideways to the trail and out of their way.

"Howdy," Ed and Jess both answered, slowing their horses without stopping. "How is the trail ahead?" Jess asked while keeping one eye on the stranger and one eye on Redding.

"Trail's good," Rizzo answered while thinking, "Oh hell, that's not only Jess Harper, with back up, but he's got Redding bound up with no sign of Malachai. The latter was most likely dead or run off since the gunman was neither smart nor patient enough to stalk properly." Twice before, he had crossed Jess' path and neither time had worked out all that well for him. In fact, he kinda owed Jess a favor from the last one. He continued, "It gets better the closer you get to Estes Park. Folks there take care of it. What's with the prisoner?" He figured he could guess; Redding despised Harper and Rizzo didn't doubt that the feeling was mutual.

Rufus Redding hadn't looked up during this exchange, suddenly he spurred his horse forward and shouted, "They're robbers. Run for it." Bound and bareback, it was all that he could do to stay on the mount, but stay on he did; the outlaw was an able rider.

A back part of Rizzo's mind wanted to laugh. Leave it to Rufus to give him an honest excuse to cover his escape, "Really sheriff, I shot Harper in the head because I thought he was robbing this poor traveler. It was an honest mistake." Of course, it also gave him the opportunity to shoot it out with a deadly fast marksman, during which his comrade would unhelpfully flee into the hills. Thank you no thank you. Instead, he urged his horse forward and smashed the fleeing gunman across the forehead with his pistol barrel. He had hidden pulling the gun, from Jess, by his body positioning. Redding toppled from his horse, which continued charging by, and Rizzo ostentatiously holstered his gun.

Jess lowered and re-holstered his six shooter; Redding had narrowly missed meeting his maker with that stunt. Ed, who still had no firearm out, simply stared, then said "Thank you. His name is Redding and he's wanted for murder in Cheyenne. I'm Ed Bradford and this is.." The two men slowly approached as he spoke.

"Jess Harper, " Rizzo laughed easily. "Howdy Jess," he said pulling down his kerchief. "Haven't seen you since I helped deliver that gold. Taking this one up to Estes for a bounty?"

Jess nodded and returned a cold smile, "Howdy Curly Bill." That being the name he had for Rizzo. "Nope, he tried to murder me in Cooter. Figure the closest place to get rid of him is Estes Park."

"I can see that, seeing as how you don't like to just shoot captured two legged varmints," he responded. "Which was good for me. We got a problem, you and I?"

Jess looked at him, "Why are you here, Brocius?" Jess countered.

"Scouting and running errands for Ventnor, the Brit in Estes Park," the man lied in case Redding had blabbed about their job. "Got no quarrel with you, Harper. Matter of fact, I just helped you out," he continued easily. "I figure that squares us."

"Well, I said it wouldn't go well with you, next time we met. Guess I was wrong," Jess finished. "Heading to Cooter?"

"Yup, got mail from the boss. Guess I'll continue on now. Probably see you back in Estes." He turned his horse and started slowly down the trail to Cooter.

"Probably so." Jess half turned to Ed, "Mind seeing to our prisoner, Ed? I have to chase down that horse."

"Certainly," Ed answered as he lightly dismounted. "Thank you for the help Mr. Brocius. I look forward… Jess!"

Jess had turned his horse towards where Redding's horse had fled. While it looked like he had turned his back upon the exiting Rizzo, in fact he had kept him in his peripheral vision and had drawn his hideout gun, the action concealed by his body, with his left hand. As Rizzo fast drew, Jess raised and fired, hitting the backshooter in the chest. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

As Jess collected Curly Bill's dropped gun (a rather nice Peacemaker) and newly abandoned horse, Ed asked, "Jess, why on Earth did he do that? Lay out Redding then try to back shoot you?"

Jess shrugged and smiled coldly, "Because cold hearted pros like Brocius have a high regard for their own skins and generally don't like fair fights. Come on, let's go. We have a horse to collect."

They tied the unconscious Redding upon Rizzo's mount, then spent half an hour relocating and acquiring their missing equine. He hadn't gone far, taking shelter under an oak and was quite content to rejoin them. Then they were again heading towards Estes park. "Rain is lightening up and the wind is dropping," Jess commented. "It will be easier to spot Redding's bunch. Course it'll be easier for them to spot us too."

Ed shrugged and glanced over, "Certainly. Do you think they are between us and Estes Park?"

Jess nodded, "Yup. That backshooter came from this way. Probably was on his way back to Cooter to check on Redding and his partner."

Ed chewed on that for a minute, "You know, nobody we talked to in Cooter had seen an entourage of Russians come through. Want to bet we're here ahead of them and those two were sent to watch for their arrival?"

Jess shrugged, "Maybe. Or maybe they were there to get supplies. Or both. Anyway, I bet your killers are ahead of us…which means we have a problem." Ed looked the question at Jess who shrugged, "We show up, with a bound Redding, and they won't like it much. While if we don't have Redding with us we're just two men heading to Estes Park."

Ed frowned and turned to look at their senseless prisoner, "There's no law in Cooter to take him. Do you know a way to circle around and get into Estes Park?"

"Nope."

They rode in silence for a minute. Finally, Ed spoke up, "What are you suggesting, Jess? The fellow deserves hanging but…"

Jess grimaced, then turned to Redding, "You got anything to say Rufus? Any ideas better than just slitting your throat?"

Rufus Redding, who was getting awfully uncomfortable with the conversation as he listened in while playing possum, started. Then he blurted out, "You can't just murder me Harper." He paused, then he went on, "I'll tell you everything that I know if you let me go. Then I will ride east without looking back. You won't ever come across me again. Just give me my gun, a horse, and some food."

Jess laughed, "Your gun?"

"Yeah, my gun. Didn't say anything about bullets but I am partial to that pistol," the gunman retorted with unforced sulkiness. He figured that giving Jess something to argue about, and refuse, would make it more likely for him to make a deal with the man to cut himself loose. After all, the Texan was squeamish about killing without need and he had information to offer him. "Besides, a man can't live out here long without a good gun," he added.

"Tell that to the Quakers and the Shakers," Ed commented to nobody in particular. This earned himself a sour look from both of the other men.

There was a long silence. Finally Jess spoke, "Start talking. Enough useful information gets you cut loose to leave. Not enough leaves you tied to a tree, and gagged. We can be back in three or four days so you won't starve to death. 'Course we won't be in any hurry to come pick you up and then we will drop you off with the law." Then Jess added, with a wicked grin, "Assuming we live through this."

Ed saw the shapes and colors of truth and determination in Jess' words. Redding didn't need Ed's weird sight to see the same. It was obvious to him that Harper was all done with him and deadly serious. Redding started talking, and to Ed's astonishment, he mostly kept to the truth. An hour later, Jess and Ed were riding to Estes Park while an unmounted Rufus Redding sulkily trudged towards Cooter. Hate for Jess Harper filled Redding's heart while Jess' parting words growled quietly in his ears; "If I see you again, Redding, you are either a dead man or going to jail. We are not even, you and I. Not even close."

*.*

Klaus Bauer, faux U.S. army lieutenant, surveilled the buildings of Lord Ventnor's Estes Park estate from the cover of a wooded hill. There was a large lodge, a bunk house, a smoke house, a cook house, a stable, a corral and a barn. "Carl, it appears I was wrong. The Russian got here ahead of us. But he is not in a large group," he announced when he saw two men in Russian army uniforms, plus a Russian flag, accompanying three others, flying about the lodge.

Carl Morgan scowled, and shook his head. "So we go with the original plan? We ride up and warn them of indian trouble to see how they are set up?"

Bauer smiled coldly, "Yes, I believe so. Be so good as to form up our 'soldiers,' will you?"

The five killers rode towards Dunhaven's lodge in a paired column led by Bauer. The two Russian soldiers, talking and smoking as they cleaned their Berdan II cavalry rifles in the lodge's front yard, watched the quintet approach with disinterest. In the corral, another man was working with some riding horses, and the sound of men's laughter could be heard coming from the bunk house. A matronly woman beat a rug upon the porch and smoke wisped up from two of the lodge's chimneys as well as from the cook and smoke houses. The 'troopers' stopped at the corral, with 'Sergeant' Morgan and 'Lieutenant' Bauer continuing to the front porch of the Lodge.

The woman turned to them when they set foot upon the porch, "Yes gentlemen, what may I do for you?" She was pleasantly heavy, with a smiling freckled face, blue eyes and red hair going to gray. "I am Mrs. Chambers; Lord Ventnor's cook and house keeper."

Bauer stopped, clicked his heals and gave a nod with his head towards her. This drew an odd look from the man in the corral as well as a murmur from his own men. "Mrs. Chambers, I am Lieutenant Jones, U.S. Cavalry. I have a dispatch for Lord Ventnor. Will you please take me to him? It is urgent. There is Indian trouble."

Mrs. Chamber's eyes went wide, 'Really and truly Lieutenant? How alarming! We've heard nothing of the sort. And no, I can't take you to him. He is out hunting with a guest. But you and your men are welcome to rest and wait. Please come in. Your men are welcome to stay in the bunk house. Alternatively, you can give the dispatch to me if you must be off." And with that, she turned to the door behind the carpet, and opened it with a welcoming gesture to the faux-officer.

Bauer smiled, "Thank you. I shall be glad to. Sergeant Morgan, see to the men," he said to Carl as he headed for the door.

"Yes sir," his chief thug growled back at him. "I shall see to all of the men."

Bauer stopped, turning back towards Morgan he gave the man a wintry smile. "And with a minimum of fuss, if you please Mr. Morgan. A minimum of fuss." Then he turned crisply and marched through the door, closely followed by the housekeeper. The ensuing fuss, was indeed, minimal. The two soldiers, plus the hands in the stable, bunk house, cook house, and the barn were neatly taken at gunpoint, and then bound and gagged. Four more Russian soldiers were dealt with similarly. Only two shots were fired, killing the one Russian soldier who had tried to resist.

*.*

Suppressing a grunt of annoyance, Gordan Thomas Gordan-Hall, 4th Earl of Ventnor and Mount-Dial, raised his bald head and peered out from under his bushy eyebrows at his hunting companion. Grand Duke Ivan Nikolayevich Romanov was not only short and hawk-facingly ugly, but he was also one of those boors with neither the patience nor the use for manners. Why this was the third antelope or elk that he had brought down today while he, his host, had not brought down any….and not only that but the man now had the effrontery to be offering him shooting advice!

The Grand Duke pontificated on happily, "Yes my dear Ventnor, I think you should look closely at these rifles made on the Berdan design. Even mass produced ones are very accurate, but these custom-made ones are truly marvelous…." Then he stopped and gave Ventnor the flash of a smile; smiling was a rare occurrence for the dour man, "Ha, with such rifles we would have won in the Crimea and would now own Istanbul!"

The Earl went white, then red. "Indeed not! It would have taken more than just better rifles. I was there, you know," Ventnor retorted.

"Maybe da, maybe nyet," the Grand Duke shrugged. "We did not have the navy, then, that I have built us now. So perhaps it is so."

"Mastery of the waters is always critical," Ventnor agreed and, amity restored, the supremely arrogant bald man with glasses and great flapping ears pulled out and lit his pipe while the Russian reloaded and re-slung his rifle. Then he turned back towards the Russian that he found ugly, boorish and utterly unappealing, "Ivan, I think it is time for us to return to the Lodge. I fear this has been your day rather than mine. But tomorrow, we shall come out again and I shall do better."

The small Russian shrugged, "Da my Earl. Let us return. As for tomorrow, perhaps. Or perhaps we should talk of better relations between our countries. Is not that why I have come? A cheery diversion, hunting, but we have hunted, every day, for over a week."

Ventnor sighed while outwardly giving the man a neutral smile, thinking, "Indeed, the Russian is a terrible boor." Then he turned to his servants and beckoned down slope to the dead elk, "Joyce, Cooley. You two see to the cleaning and transporting of the carcass back to the lodge. I don't care to lose it to a bear."

Duke Ivan quirked an eyebrow at him, "I don't know that such would be inappropriate. Did not a Bear bring it down for you?" Then the man boomed out an abrupt laugh, heartily slapped Ventnor on the back of his right shoulder and set off for their tethered horses at a prodigious pace.

"Quite," the duke answered at the retreating back, while thinking "Gad, I hate that man." Then he curtly gestured to his two servants to be about their task.

*.*

Jess and Ed rode on, eventually hearing the sound of sawing off to the left of the road. Jess turned to Ed, "We're probably close to Estes Park. Let's ask a local for directions to Ventnor. It will probably save us some time." At Ed's nodded agreement they turned and started following the sound. After a quarter mile, they found a family, the Ohmsford's, building a home to replace their overcrowded cabin. Papa Jan Ohmsford was only too happy to take a break to talk with his two visitors. "Oh yes, you are on road to Estes Park. It be three mile ahead. Ven it fork left you take it. Sign point to Ventnor place, you betcha," The sweating man had cheerfully informed them. "Perhaps you punch him in nose for me? He is bad neighbor."

Jess started, his Polish friend, Iwona Corey, had met Ventnor and hadn't said anything untoward about him. Then again, she hadn't really said much about him at all except that he was 'Paruwa' whatever that was. "Why do you say that, Jan?"

Jan Ohmsford waved them towards an oak tree, under which his smiling and broad shouldered wife Astrid was setting out a prodigious lunch upon a rough table, "Ve haff lunch. You join viff family, you betcha." Ed and Jess joined the boisterous Swedish family of eight at table. Soon dishes of sausage, potato, beets, and bread were bouncing around the table along with home brewed beer. Three large, wooly, overfed dogs of decidedly indeterminate ancestry, circled the meal eagerly.

Astrid picked up the conversation where her husband left off while their eldest daughter, 16 year old Linnea, resolutely tried to catch Jess' eye. "Mr. Harper, Ventnor has tried to claim this entire valley as his private hunting preserve. He hired men to file claims, in their names, but for him so as to claim ownership. He has done much legal, and commercial, maneuvering to drive out anyone else who would live here. We other locals do not much like him."

Ed scowled, "Acting the English Lord, is he?" Ed asked, "I was born in Britain so I know the type."

Jan Ohmsford nodded, "Yes, Sveden haff the same sort of men. Vas good to come here. And Ventnor stuck with Ohmsfords. Ve here before him."

Astrid gave a hard laugh, "Which has not stopped him with some others. But my father is not only a lawyer, but he is also Congressman Wilkinson of Minnesota. Papa has seen to it that we are not bothered." Then, seeing Jess' look of puzzlement she gave him a quick smile, "Oh, unlike Jan, I am native born Mr. Harper. I quite scandalized the family when I ran off with my scamp of a husband when he came through Saint Paul."

Jan grinned, "So she did. And we haff made gud life verever ve haff go. Ventnor not like us but he stuck for us. And papa Vilkinson is good man. After Linnea arrive, all forgiven."

Astrid laughed aloud, "Papa loves being a grandfather," she said simply.

Lunch passed merrily with Ed and Jess being shooed off by Astrid to keep them from helping with the dishes. The mother firmly collared her eldest daughter, sending her off to the cabin to do the washing up. The girl sulked since, as her mother intended, it kept her from luring their handsome visitor to their barn.

Jess and Ed eventually bid good bye to their cheerful hosts, continuing on their way. When they reached the signed turnoff to the Ventnor land, Ed slowed with the remounts and Jess scouted ahead. Hence it was Jess who first spied the lodge which flew three flags- none of which were the stars and bar or old glory; those being the only flags he would have recognized. He watched it from cover, for a good half hour, before Ed caught up.

The Brit stopped, likewise keeping to cover, and looked at the Lodge and three flags. He idly noted the state flag of Colorado and the Union Jack. He didn't recognize the third. "We haven't seen any of Redding's friends on the road Jess. That concerns me," he said quietly.

Jess grunted, "We have now. Look over by the bunk house. There's a guy dressed as a soldier, watching the road. They have gotten here and taken over the place. Nobody else has been around except for men dressed as soldiers. I have seen three so far."

Ed tapped his chin, "Well, that is unfortunate. Do they show any signs of going anywhere?"

Jess shook his head, "No. I think they are waiting for the Russians to arrive. I figure they've grabbed Ventnor. Maybe killed him."

"Hmm," Ed vocalized, "If Ventnor is dead, the smartest thing we could do would be to leave and to warn off the Russian. But what if Ventnor is not dead? Simply captive along with the others? I think we should find that out."

Jess gave him a sour look, "Sitting here won't do that, if he is a prisoner."

Ed laughed quietly, "Well it would if they let him use the privy. Sadly, if I was holding him he would be using the chamber pot. No, I daresay that I need to ride up there."

"And just what will that do? Aside from letting them capture us? They won't let us talk to Ventnor," Jess said with quiet sternness.

Ed breezily went on, "Not us, me. I shall be very British and have a message for Ventnor from the embassy. I can present it as only for his nibs. If they turn me away, we know Ventnor is not there since presenting him to get the note would be easy enough."

Jess rolled his eyes, "And if they invite you in and don't let you back out?"

Ed smiled pleasantly, "If there is a gunshot then you will know that the Earl is not there. If there is no gun shot, then I too have been taken prisoner and that the Earl is probably being held prisoner too since they have been considerate enough to not kill me. Then you ride off and warn off the Russian."

"And if they strangle or stab you, liking quiet and all?" Jess drawled slowly.

Ed blanched, "Well that would be a bother, wouldn't it? Still, I find it unlikely and I can force a gunshot, in any event."

Jess looked at his friend, eyeing him as if seeing him for the first time, "And just how do I get you and Ventnor out of there if you are prisoners? Aside from the chance that you are likely just to be killed outright?"

"Well, protecting the Russian is the mission. Not Ventnor or myself. The Queen's shilling, you know, is taken at some risk. Still, if push comes to shove, I fancy that I will work out something in order to escape," the Brit said with optimistic cheeriness. The pair talked, back and forth, for some time but Ed Bradford could not be dissuaded.

"Ed, at least give me some time to work over to that ridge closer to the house. I can stay under cover and it will give me a better view of what is going on."

To that, Ed agreed. He gave Jess an hour to arrive at his preferred vantage point, and then proceeded forward; mouth dry and stomach fluttering. All arguments made to Jess aside, Ed knew this was not a great idea and that he was likely to get himself killed. "Stiff upper lip, old son," he admonished himself. Then a new thought sent his spirit to quailing, "If Mattie finds out about this harebrained ploy, she is going to kill me." That necessitated a calming breath.

So up the road, Ed Bradford went. Stopping upon the open porch of a house where a man dressed as a cavalry officer confronted him. "You there, what do you want. Lord Ventnor doesn't want to be disturbed."

"Good day, lieutenant," Ed said, striving hard to sound as British as the day he had arrived in the New World. "I have a private message for his Lordship."

Klaus Baue looked dumbfoundedly at Ed. The last thing he expected was a courier. After a long silence, he answered, "Well, he's left orders not to be disturbed." He gave Ed a conspiratorial wink, "Lady business you know. Just leave it with me and I'll see that he gets it."

"I am afraid that is unacceptable as the message is "his eyes only" for his Lordship. I am to give it to him personally. It is from the Crown, you see. Are you in charge here?" Ed asked politely. "If his Lordship is not present, I daresay I must speak with your commanding officer. It is rather urgent."

Bauer forced a begrudging smile. An urgent British message to Ventnor could mean trouble. A warning perhaps? They needed to see that message. He forced himself to relax. "I am in charge of this guard contingent. One moment, and I will check with his grace. Perhaps he is done. If he isn't, I fear you shall have to give the message to me." Then he turned towards the bunk house, "Morgan! Come out here."

A hard-looking man immediately stepped out, "Yeah?"

"Come up here and keep an eye on… What is your name?" he asked turning back.

Ed raised an eyebrow, then with a gay sense of abandon answered, "Romeo Montague, my good sir."

"Stay with Montague, here." Morgan immediately moved to join Ed upon the porch while Bauer went into the lodge.

Ed smiled jovially at the other man, "Indeed, come join me up here! It is a fine day and we shall chat while your commanding officer hales forth the Earl."

Jess watched the second soldier join Ed on the unrailed porch; sitting down in a fancy padded rocking chair some distance out of his friend's reach as the Brit pocketed his glasses. The original soldier turned and entered the lodge. Jess watched Ed pocket his glasses and began talking with the second soldier, who, in a minute laughed. Moments later, Ed commenced hopping madly about the porch while the other man rocked with laughter. "My God," Jess said aloud. "Ed's telling the kangaroo story." Then to Jess' amazement, Ed hopped up on something in front of the chair (a foot stool for the rocker?) and kicked the almost doubled over man in the head! Next Ed leapt off of the porch, made a brutally painful landing upon the saddle horn of the untethered Nicker, and bolted away from the house. Jess cringed in sympathy at the sight, his own male parts wanting to retreat further into his torso at the memory of similar previous landings of his own. But Ed was still game. The telegrapher, clutching desperately to his mount, arrowed towards three mounted men coming towards the lodge from the distant left. One of the men was dressed quite outlandishly. He wore a brightly colored uniform with a huge furred something or other on his head.

Rifle shots rang out from the lodge buildings and Nicker redoubled her speed with a shriek, further unsettling the still desperately clutching Ed. Jess couldn't see where she had been hit, but wherever it was, it wasn't slowing her any. More shots were fired, the speed of their firing showing that the enemy had lever actioned rifles, not the standard army issue Sharpes. Jess brought his rifle up and started giving Ed some covering fire. He doubted that he would hit anyone at this range but he surely could make them nervous.

*.*

Lord Ventnor was riding at the Duke's side when, over a quarter of a mile away, the Hunting Lodge came into view. The sight brought a broad smile to the earl's face. Not because he loved the place, which he did, but because he could see that his house flag was gone. That was Carl Morgan's signal that Bauer was there and that he would quietly start eliminating the other gunmen once the Earl's party was in the lodge. Things were coming to a head at last, and he looked at Duke Ivan out of the corner of his eye. "By God, maybe I shouldn't save this surly ape from Bauer; just let the German kill him!" He stifled that personally pleasing thought and reminded himself to think long term. "No, no, the original plan is a good plan. Stopping Bauer, who thought that he was working for the Turks to frame a Germany that was trying to frame Britain and the America for doing the dastardly deed, was still best." Ventnor's smile broadened, "He would get credit for extending the already growing bond between Blighty and her old colony, while warming the bad relations between Britain and the Bear. All this while further encouraging the Bear to stomp on the Turk while mistrusting Germany. or perhaps, they would stomp on Germany while mistrusting the Turk. Either would be a diplomatic master stroke… perhaps enough to get him into the Prime Minister's spot."

Duke Ivan broke his reverie by hauling out his rifle and speaking, "There seems to be a problem.I believe the rider racing towards us is being shot at from your home. Who is he?"

Ventnor then registered the rifle shots and noted the smoke puffs come from the cook house and the porch. A moment later he spotted, immediately grimacing stern disapproval, the poor horseman desperately clinging to a thoroughly disreputable looking mount. "I have no idea. No man of mine has a horse that ugly," he answered with a disdainful sniff. Then he turned to the third in their group; a man who had said little but who had watched much during the week's hunting. "Thomas, stop that man and find out what he is about."

"Yes sir," Andrew Thomas answered, pulling his 5-shot Beaumont-Adams pistol out. The lithe man spurred his horse and rode towards the approaching rider, calling and motioning for him to halt.

Ventnor turned towards the Duke whom was eyeing him impassively. "Ivan, let us retire behind that brush while Thomas sorts this out."

The look that Ivan Nikolayevich gave him was what one might see upon the face of a man whom, barefoot, had stepped upon something a stray canine had left. "Da, Ventnor. Seek out your bush. I shall cover your man." Cocking his rifle, he then turned to face the approaching rider while pointedly ignoring the earl.

Ventnor went scarlet, froze, and sputtered, "Taking cover is sensible, and Thomas is paid to do such things as he is doing. Paid bloody well. You bloody fool, you have no right …."

Ed Bradford's groin felt like a mule had kicked him there. There was blood running down the side of his head from the bullet that had creased both him and Nicker, and the incessant firing was causing his already poor vision to muddy pinkishly. All was not going perfectly. Still, it was exhilarating and he hadn't done anything like this since marrying Mattie. He flinched at the thought. She was already angry over the spy business. If she heard of today's adventures….. her response just didn't bear thought. Now if he could find the three riders who had disappeared into the pink mirk. They were out in this general direction….

Another rider appeared some 30 yards to his front, pistol raised skyward, and calling for him to halt. Simultaneous to Ed pulling up, the man discharged his pistol upward; a final warning for Ed to halt. Ed's entire world went pink. "Oh bloody hell," he muttered. Then louder, "Son, is Ventnor beyond you? I am a courier with a message for the man."

"You're British," Thomas exclaimed.

"As British as you are. I am also, currently, blind as a bat. Grab my mount and guide me up, will you?"

"If you are blind, how'n hell did you know his Lordship was over here?" Thomas demanded as he approached, gun pointed at Ed's head. "And keep your hands out. I don't want you pulling a weapon."

Rifle fire continued from the Lodge with the bullets, fired with the inaccuracy due to extreme range, kicking up dirt around the two men, "Bloody hell! You've well and truly pissed off the house, haven't you? Come on," Thomas proclaimed. "Let's get to some cover and sort this out."

"I don't have time to explain chromesthesia," Ed thought, then he remembered his bleeding head wound. "I saw you three before I got this," he said turning the wounded side towards the pistoleer, and heard the man gasp in response.

"Bloody hell, how are you still alive?" Moments later, he felt his horse start forward. "Hang on, I am going to trot us."

A minute later, vision beginning to clear, Ed heard the sound of two men heatedly arguing in – presumably- Russian. All four of the men were now screened behind some bushes. The big eared bald man turned to Thomas, "Well man, what is going on?"

Thomas nodded, "Message for you, sir! This courier is nearly dead from a head shot, so I suspect that it is important."

"I'm not dead yet," Ed piped up then proclaimed, "Actually, I am feeling better. Lord Ventnor? Duke Romanov? I am Major Edward Bradford. The consulate in Chicago sent me to warn you that some men intended to kill His Russian Grace and blame it on you, milord. These miscreants," he continued with a nod towards the happily out of sight lodge, "dressed as American soldiers, seem to have ensconced themselves in your home."

"Yank soldiers, you say Major?" Thomas asked. "They weren't there this morning when we left for the hunt."

"I daresay you wouldn't have left if they were. No, they are not actually soldiers. My bodyguard and I dispatched three of the lot on our way here to warn you. They are imposters in the employ of a German named Bauer," Ed said, taking his kerchief and blindly mopping at his blood bespattered face.

"My God, this is a mess!" Ventnor thought and felt a wild desire to shoot Ed dead. "If the interfering jackanapes hadn't brought this infernal warning, he would have had things nicely tied up within the hour. Now his plan was bolloxed up. There was no way he would get the credit for rescuing the Duke. That fool in Chicago would." He repressed his deadly urge and testily demanded, " Well, give me the message then. Did you say Bauer? Klaus Bauer?"

"Yes, that is the name we have, though the source for that is none too trustworthy." Ed pulled the sealed envelope from his left-hand pocket. He had five different messages cached about his person, each one with different messages in them depending upon whom he was giving them to. But this was actually the one for Ventnor.

"Klaus Bauer is a man for hire. Last I heard he worked for some Turk or another." Ventnor said as he broke the seal. "I suppose the Turks might want to kill you, Ivan, and blame it upon me. That makes some sense." He then unfolded the paper and burst out, "The bloody thing is encoded!"

"Why yes, milord. I encoded it myself so that, if I was intercepted, it wouldn't be useful to our opposition." Ed supplied. He had used a simple substitution cipher that the Consulate had suggested. A professional could break it but it was unlikely the opposition would have a professional code breaker, or anyone else present, who could do it quickly. "It is Number 5B," he added helpfully.

"Major, my code books are hidden in the lodge. This is useless to me," he peeved at Ed.

"You're not blind!" Thomas suddenly declared at Ed.

Ed shook his head, "No lad, my vision seems to be clearing up a bit though things are still murky." He winced at the head shake and then put on his glasses. Those helped.

*.*

Jess Harper had only fired a dozen rounds before Ed was clear. He pulled back from his bush, reloading as he went. "I have a choice now. Do I go behind this ridge then circle up and rejoin Ed or do I keep an eye on Ventnor's place? If Ed is in trouble it could be too late anyway. But my job is to keep him alive, not to help out that land grabbin' Brit. On the other hand, if the the guy with the big hairy thing on his head is the Russian, then that is where I need to be...with Ed. It was a tough choice and Jess decided to give it a good long think ... that being about three seconds for Jess Harper. "Come on Traveler," he said as he mounted. "Lets go catch Nicker and Ed." The horse's ears perked up a bit at that. Like the two men, he was rather partial to Nicker….there being times that he seemed to forget that he was a gelding.

So, under cover of the ridge line, Jess headed in the direction Ed had charged off to. Some minutes later he made his way to the top of the ridge to have a look. Sure enough, there was Ed with three others. The blamed fools were headed towards the Lodge! "What are those idiots up to?" he said aloud. Ed seemed to be arguing with the hairy hatted one and another. Seeing that some trees blocked the line of sight to the house, Jess gave out a long loud whistle and waved when Ed looked over. Ed waved back and Jess headed down the ridge to join them.

*.*

Klaus Bauer swore sulphurously, German being a language particularly well suited to swearing. "Why the devil did Ventnor and the Russian have to pop up, right when some stranger appears, gets twitchy, and then runs off? Not only that, but then the man gets away with running off!" He turned to Morgan. The man was only half conscious and he couldn't stand. Continuing his silent monologue, "And here's Carl Morgan, the one man that I can fully depend on, out for the duration. How did all of this happen?"

"Ramirez! Diggs! Carpenter! Get the horses! We are going to finish this," he shouted causing Morgan to again, unsuccessfully rise to his feet. Montague must have really walloped him. "Sit back down, Carl. You're no good to me right now. Stay here. We'll be back for you." Defeated, and more than half scrambled, the gunman sagged back down into the rocker, while muttering something about Ventnor. Soon he fell asleep…and like many concussed men, it was a sleep he never awoke from.

A few minutes later, the four killers came tearing out of the living area, heading straight at where Ed and Thomas had disappeared behind cover. "Now or never men," Bauer called. "They get away and Ventnor will hire a company of guards and the Duke will probably head back to Russia. We'll never get another chance." Then he added, "Your pay is now doubled." That last brought feral grins. Bauer snorted, it cost him nothing extra. He figured that Rizzo, Redding and Mordichai wouldn't be collecting their pay so adding it to these three's was not a problem.

The four horsemen tore over the ground hurtling past the point where the brush provided cover for Ed and the hunting party. They started blazing away with rifles and pistols when the first target presented itself. That was Ventnor. The Earl's horse reared as two rounds hit it in the neck then a third struck it in the brain, killing it instantly. The Earl leapt off of his falling mount and took a shot to his thigh. With a shrill cry of pain the noble flopped gracelessly down behind a large oak stump.

"Take cover," Thomas shouted, while quickly unloading his pistol at the charging men. This fusillade broke the charge, dropping Ramirez with a lung shot while his companions took cover. The English bodyguard then dove into cover himself, shots pranging the tree even as he landed behind it. He holstered his empty gun, pulling his backup. It was a Le Mot revolver; a hulking nine shot monstrosity with an underslung 20 gauge extra short shotgun barrel. Then he was up again and returning fire.

Ed and the Duke also dismounted and went to cover. Duke Ivan stood shooting some sort of ornate European revolver through the notch of a squat forked tree while Ed, once again vision shrouded in a world gone pink, lay sprawled behind some rocks. There the telegrapher desperately prayed that the rocks were big enough to provide cover while he tried to make sense of what was going on by sound alone. His double-barreled shot gun lay useless by his side. So three active murderers exchanged fire with two potential victims in a bullet intensive standoff.

*.*

Jess was halfway down the slope, out of sight of friend and foe alike, when the firing broke out. He only hesitated for a fraction of a moment, then he put heel to flank and Traveler let out a half hysterical equine cry (which if Ed had seen it would been orange and blue with fear and cursing) and obediently leapt forward. They plunged ahead, sending scree in all directions as they sailed, slewed, slid and charged into the fray all the while making a rumpus that sounded like half of the giants at Ragnarok were thundering in. At slope bottom, they ploughed into a chest deep stream, sending water flying.

Man and beast surged out, Traveler with ears and tail up, as if shouting, "Darn that was fun! But don't ever make me do that again!" and the man resettling himself into his half-vacated saddle. A pair of rifle shots greeted them. Neither came close. The centaur like pair charged forward, Jess rapidly firing his pistol with one hand while pulling his rifle with the other. One villain, Diggs, went down with two hits to his torso and Jess dropped the empty hog leg. Bauer, frantically reloading as Jess' charge came at an intensely inopportune time for him, found himself all too close to the mad horseman. The German feverishly brought his pistol up, but Jess lashed out and laid his old Henry across the Mercenary's forehead- dropping him and breaking (again) the rifle's delicate reloading system. Seeing this, Carpenter popped up to flee and caught bullets from both Thomas and the Duke. This fight was over.

The four uninjured men, bandaged Ventnor and the trussed up unconscious Bauer returned to the lodge. There they freed the prisoners and buried Duke Ivan's dead guard. Ventnor also ordered some men to go out, the next day, to unceremoniously bury Bauer's three fallen men. But that night was for celebrating because there had been no guarantee that any of them would have come out of this alive. Sadly, both the Duke and the Earl were out of sorts. The Duke because of his dead guard (actually a distant kinsman) and the Earl because of his wounded leg. The rest of the household was loud and lively (even the surviving Russian guards as their deceased cohort had been an unpopular and arrogant hothead.

Still, it is the nature of men to be watchful after ill events have passed- in case more are in the offing. It is no accident that the expression "Locking the barn door after the horse is gone," is a cliché. So Ed, Jess, and Andrew Thomas kept a watch while hoping there were no more ruffians to cause trouble, while going through the villain's gear to pass the time.

"Odd this," Andrew Thomas said. "Their leader, Bauer you say? Has the other soldier's account books. And that Morgan fellow has a drawing of the Earl's house flag."

Ed shook his head, "They weren't soldiers. They stole those uniforms in Rosita, or so we were told. As to the house flag…." He trailed off with a shrug.

"The books say that they were paid by the army and they sure look, pitifully, like army wages," Jess observed. "And it was Redding as told us otherwise."

Ed shook his head, "Yeah, and Redding had a uniform too. And hey, we have 3 books extra. None say Redding or Brocius on them. Those two weren't active soldiers. We know better."

Jess nodded, "Yeah, that is right. So, none of them probably were."

Ed pursed his lips, "So, the account books must have been meant to be put with dead uniformed bodies. Fix the blame for killing the Duke on us Yanks? But we were told they were going to try to get Ventnor blamed."

Jess laughed, "Ed, only a Chinese would sound less like a Yank than you do."

"Maybe it was a back-up plan," Thomas said with a shrug, "Might work, but only if there are no witnesses. It also means Bauer meant to double cross his own men. That man is a right piece of work. And Ed sounds better than any Yank."

Ed shook his head, then shrugged, "No, maybe. He might have only meant to leave books with his casualties. But it surely means that his men didn't know about them. It would have set them to thinking about being backshot." Than switching trains of thought, "I saw two or three flags flying but none of them were that one."

Thomas frowned and then he shrugged, "Oh, it was up this morning. Along with the Union Jack, the Russian's flag and the Colorado state flag. The earl rather fancies that last so had a pole for it put up last winter."

Jess also shrugged disinterestedly, and then he stretched, "Andrew, do you mind finishing up the night watch? I want some sleep."

"Certainly Jess, after all you took the first watch," he answered reasonably, then the Brit laughed and favored the Texan with a wicked grin, " And after that charge of yours I expect you need a change of shorts as well! I thought the entire mountain side was coming down with you." He paused, then added, "And we'll tell their graces about the account books in the morning. It's their mystery."

Jess laughed then made a face, "Their Graces! Sorry Andrew, I don't see much grace there. Especially not in your boss."

Andrew barked out another laugh, "Just a form of speech, my lad. Just a form of speech. He isn't terribly graceful nor is he particularly kind. But I've seen worse and he pays well. I expect you'll like the Russian though. Drives the Earl wild, he does. The sort of man who speaks his mind and has no patience with foolery. Which, from what I have seen, is most of what diplomacy is. I hear tell the Duke's here because the rest of the Russians don't him any more than his grace does." It was then that Mrs. Chambers came in and quietly informed the trio that the ruffian that Ed had booted in the head had passed on and asked them if they would be kind enough to carry the corpse out to the barn. Solemnly the trio agreed, but when the woman left the room Thomas gave Ed a maniacal grin, tore his own shirt off and danced around the room shouting "Goal!" Jess looked at him like he was a lunatic while Ed put a hand upon his own face and laughed. When the Brits finally subsided, the trio took a lantern and removed the corpse to the barn…Thomas occasionally snickering.

*.*

Ed was up bright and early, cheerfully gossiping with the Russians and the lodge's staff about the previous day's events, while being an overly helpful nuisance to Mrs. Chambers. He found it useful in filling in a few informational blanks. Breakfast was Pronghorn steaks with potatoes and eggs; meat fresh from the previous day's hunt. All (save Ventnor) ate well, and together, in the Great Room. Ventnor, dour and off of his feed, had refused to leave his bed. After eating, Ed made his way to the sick room and paid the Earl a visit where the Earl grumpily thanked him for a job well done.

"Your Grace, a few private words before Jess and I leave, if you don't mind," Ed politely requested.

The Earl grumbled, "I am a captive audience, my leg being this way, even if I was disinclined." He growled, then he added, "Which I am not, of course." And he motioned the servant in the room to depart.

Ed smiled, he had the man's speech patterns pegged now. Of course, he was disinclined. "Thomas told you about the account books, did he not?"

The Earl nodded, "Framing the Yanks he said. Odd that and easy enough to disprove, though it would sew doubt with the mistrustful."

"Yes. Your grace, did you know that one of the miscreants, Morgan, took down your house flag? He left the others up, through," Ed asked intently.

The Duke froze, then answered smoothly, "No, I did not."

A lie, Ed saw. "Odd that. Had you ever met the man?"

"Of course not," he answered testily. "What are you going on about?"

Another lie. Ed's voice grew hard and he ploughed ahead quietly. "You knew they were here, didn't you? At the Lodge. Morgan was your man."

The Earl had his diplomatic poker face in place. He said nothing.

"Yet you were heading back here. If you wanted the Russian dead you, or your own folk, could have done it easily enough. You wanted a failed effort. Was it your idea to blame it on the Yanks?" he went on remorselessly.

"You are impertinent and out of bounds," Ventnor finally managed with an imperiousness that rang hollow. "Hold your tongue, Major."

Ed stood and stared at the aristocrat, thoughts churning behind an impassive mien. Finally, he spoke with all trace of his British accent eliminated, "You're playing some game for personal gain. A diplomatic one where you personally want to indebt/impress the Russians. I don't know what it is and I do not care. But whatever it is, it does not belong here. Leave my country, Ventnor. If you do not, then I shall not only report what you have done to the Consulate, but I will also report it to the Grand Duke as well as to both the New York and London Times. That will leave a jolly mess for you to explain and justify. Then the American reached into an inner pocket of his jacket. He pulled a silver coin out and flipped it to the sullen Earl. Without a pause, or another word, he smartly turned upon his heel and strode from the house. Joining Jess, the pair pulled out of the yard while the Earl stared at the coin in incomprehension. It was a silver Queen's shilling.

55


End file.
